


a dream within a dream

by goldstraw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Competent Jaime Lannister is my kink, Ending is as angsty as you want it to be, F/M, POV Brienne of Tarth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/pseuds/goldstraw
Summary: Deep in the bowels of the castle, Brienne is struggling to stay awake but she's in Jaime's capable care.****She paused, troubled by the emotion in his voice. “You needn’t worry about me.”A deep furrow appeared in his forehead. "But I do. You do realise that?"****
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 30
Kudos: 135





	a dream within a dream

In the bowels of the castle, so deep they could not hear the storm raging around them, Brienne moaned in pain, nearly putting her teeth through her bottom lip. Jaime was in the corner of the room, where he was shedding off his armour and numerous layers into a snow-soaked pile, the last effort required at the end of another endlessly long shift, guarding against something as yet unseen, still waiting for it to crawl out from the darkness. She had her hands held out, one glove half off, frozen solid. 

“Gods, wench—“ muttered Jaime as he came closer to see. “How have you managed to stand this for hours?” 

She flinched as he tenderly pulled the useless gloves off, to reveal white, dead skin, cold as ice. She could only imagine the warmth in his own hand, the row of calluses just below his fingers as he cradled her hands. 

“A moment in front of the fire—“ she said, starting to turn away. 

Jaime didn’t let her hand go. “Absolutely not. If you think this hurts, that will be unbearable.“ 

Brienne caught Jaime’s eye. Exhaustion, frustration seeped into the green, darkening it so his face seemed meaner, harder. 

“I’m sorry—“ 

He gave an annoyed twitch of his head as he moved around her, unbuckling and unstrapping her own armour, leather and wool. “I know you gave your better gloves to Pod.” 

“He needed them more.” 

Jaime appeared in front of her again, finger jabbing into her chest. “And you need a dose of good sense. You are more important to the defence of Winterfell than Pod. You need to take care of yourself. For my... for all our sakes.” 

She paused, troubled by the emotion in his voice. “You needn’t worry about me.” 

A deep furrow appeared in his forehead. "But I do. You do realise that?" 

"I was foolish over my hands, I see that—" 

He looked at her incredulously. “Are you being deliberately obtuse?” 

“What? No? I don’t know what you’re getting at— I said I was sorry.” 

Jaime looked to be about to snap something back but swallowed it at the last moment as he caught sight of her tight-lipped confusion. “Well, we’re already down one hand— it wouldn’t do to lose another pair.” 

She watched him warily. His attempt at humour landed flatly, his emotions were directed inwards, pulling at his features, making him stiff and uncompromising. 

“Come, I know a better way of warming your hands up.” Before she had a moment to react, he lifted her right hand first, turning it over and quickly pushing it up underneath his shirt and under his armpit. He grimaced and hissed at the shock of ice against his warm torso, but Brienne too gasped and spluttered at the unexpectedness, the heat, the intimacy of the act. They stared at each other, panting slightly. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but Jaime wouldn’t let her, firmly holding onto her hand and giving her a look that was heated, challenging and altogether difficult to keep looking at without reddening from her scalp to her toes. 

“Do the same with the other—“ he ordered, taking a step closer. 

She gaped at him, already shaking her head. Tutting, Jaime repeated the move with her other hand. She closed her eyes as he did so, their fingers fumbling their way underneath the layers until her hand hit skin, the tremors of his heartbeat finding their way through her numbness, and into the warm clutches of his armpit, the hair there soft against her painful skin. 

As Jaime shifted round her odd position, she found herself mere inches away from his face. They’d rarely been closer, not in such moments of stillness and focus. She thought she knew his features well, but after months of being icebound and frost-nipped, his skin had reddened, his cheekbones become sharper and his gaze deeper. He’d grown a beard again, and now grey mixed with gold. A moment closer, and she would have felt it against her chin and cheek. He watched her in return, taking in her with such intensity she felt as if she were under a spell. 

“Any other frozen extremities, wench? Not given your socks to the dogs, or anything?” 

She frowned, shuffling slightly as she knew he knew she would have. “No,” she huffed. 

He raised an eyebrow. “The cold hasn’t made you a better liar... are your feet hurting you too?” 

The note of concern in his voice took her by surprise and her throat tightened painfully. She shook her head, pulling her hands away. He flinched as her fingers ran over his ribs. “Sorry, still cold—“ 

Jaime’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you worry about that...but come, sit down. Let me see.” 

Shivering, she let him guide her to a chair. He knelt in front of her, easing her boots off. Perhaps it was her exhaustion, but she didn’t try to help as she would normally have, and just sat back and let him care for her in a way very few ever had. Her feet weren’t as bad as her hands had been, but still Jaime hissed unhappily as he unwrapped her wool bindings, his hand stretching up and down her calves to get the blood moving. She moaned slightly as the pads of his fingers applied a gentle pressure, and Jaime stilled for a second before continuing. He was so warm, the fire making his head light up like a halo, his cheeks pinked all of a sudden. 

She wondered hazily what he would do if she reached down and curled her fingers through his hair. Likely flinch again, as he seemed to do every time she touched him these days, accidentally, cold or otherwise. It was hard to explain what changed between them being able to spar, with knocks and scrapes given to each other with not a care, and what happened in the quieter times in between. It was probably all in her head anyway, she was too tired these days to make sense of it all, let alone put it into words and say them to Jaime. He would laugh or worse, make it awkward, and she couldn’t afford to lose her friend, her battle partner, to these unformed, _ridiculous_ , thoughts. 

She realised in the midst of her thoughts that he had stopped and was looking up at her, almost expectantly. “Better?” he asked huskily. 

She nodded. “You didn’t need to.” 

His mouth curved up at one side. “You’d have done the same with me. Have done so too many times to count. So it’s my pleasure.” 

Another kind word, another attack on her defences. She put her hands up to her face, trying to stem the tears, hot on her reddened cheeks. 

Jaime muttered something, his body sweeping upwards, until his hand and stump rested on her shoulders. 

“Was it something I said?” he asked, the forced lightness to his voice at odds with his gaze. 

She sniffed loudly. “Yes. Actually. Please don’t be nice to me, Jaime. I can’t bear it...” she trailed off. It was too risky when they fought for their lives every day; it would hurt a thousand times more if he... left her. 

His fingers clutched round hers, pulling them away from her face. He bent down to look her in the eye. “Wench, _Brienne_ , in all my years of knowing you, that might be the most absurd thing I've ever heard. You can be kind until you’re about to fall asleep on your feet, but I can’t show you a morsel in return? I do have some competent bones in my body you know, I can look after you too. You’ve broad shoulders but even you can’t carry the world on them.” 

She looked up at him, blinking furiously. “I can’t let the side down. You down.” 

“You’re not. As if you ever could. But you’re exhausted.” 

She couldn’t deny that. Every part of her body felt as heavy as iron. Jaime grunted, his hand giving her own a squeeze as he disappeared behind her. He returned with rugs and furs, and tucked her in. He stood tall again, and said something about getting some food. 

She made one final effort to speak. “Jaime? Thank you...for looking after me.” 

His head cocked sharply, his face creased. He sighed heavily. He knelt back down to face her. “Wench, I would do anything for you. Whether that’s sword in hand or soup. We need to stay alive. We've not come this far to freeze to death in this hell. I fully intend to take you back to a gloriously sunny Tarth and...” he hesitated. “Live out my days with you. If you’ll have me, that is.” He gave her a careful smile but his eyes hungered for something more. 

There was a slow beat of silence. And then she realised something. She was dreaming. She couldn’t remember when exactly she’d fallen asleep, but this Jaime made more sense as a figment of her fatigued mind than it would ever do in real life. And since she was asleep, she could play out her favourite dreams. She reached out her fingers, curled them round his cheek, enjoyed the effect that had on his gaze, on his breathing as she pulled him to her. And she could kiss him, say yes, _yes,_ to his proposal. How real his beard felt on her skin this time, how warm and eager his mouth was. She must be feverish, to feel all this, to have every nerve ending sing. Or maybe she had been injured and given milk of the poppy to send her under. These thoughts flitted through her head like snowflakes falling from the sky as Jaime’s ministrations continued, on her lips, her neck, his hand cradling her neck pulling her close. She could hear him, and herself. Their panting breaths, their kissing, she could even hear her heartbeat in her ears. This dream had now gone far beyond anything she’d had before, and with a sinking feeling that made her pull away from Jaime in distress. This wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. She was dying. The final moments of her life were flickering away and her mind had taken her to Jaime, as she had always hoped it would. 

“Brienne?” Jaime’s voice seemed far away and yet close. His face blurred and she felt him reaching out to steady her. He huffed gently into her ear. “Come on,” and he hefted her upwards to unsteady feet. She was led to her rooms, and put to bed. In a daze, she felt the side of the bed dip as Jaime sat. His fingers trailed over her cheek. “Sweet dreams, wench.” 

She felt herself frown. She was asleep, or dying already. But it didn’t matter: Jaime was there, and she was warm. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback makes me a very happy person!


End file.
